


The Philosopher

by Framlingem



Series: Drunken Personality Types [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunkenness, Fluff, Juvenilia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Framlingem/pseuds/Framlingem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are four kinds of drunk. Sirius is a philosopher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Philosopher

There are several different kinds of drunk. There is the Jerk: the person who, given a little bit of alcohol, would gladly take on the world, particularly the very large man with the heavy fists. There is the Hero, who insists on leaping in to rescue everyone, even the ones who don’t need rescuing. The Lover is suddenly everyone’s best friend. The Philosopher gets quiet, and suddenly begins to contemplate the reasons for ceiling tiles.  
  
The Jerk in their group is Peter, surprisingly enough. At nineteen, it is obvious that Peter will not grow any bigger, save horizontally. Sober, Peter laughs about this, threatening that if anyone makes short jokes he will punch them very hard in the knee. Drunk, he announces loudly that size isn’t important, brains are, and inevitably finds someone absolutely huge to call stupid, with a look of desperation in his eyes. He is strong, he says, strong, isn’t he? They tell him that yes, he is strong, and don’t much understand why Peter bursts into tears after hearing it, and only shakes his head for the rest of the night until he passes out on the table.  
  
Remus is the Lover. He has no tolerance for alcohol, which is all right because he also doesn’t have the money for alcohol. After a very small number of drinks, he feels that he has to touch everyone, and wants to buy them all drinks and tell them in exacting detail just how wonderful they are and how much he likes their shoes. He usually winds up lying across James’s and Sirius’s laps, head pillowed on Sirius’s shoulder. He’s not much of a weight, so they don’t mind.  
  
James, as one would expect, is the Hero. After a few glasses of Firewhisky, he is convinced that he has the answer to everybody’s problems. He holds forth at length on this; he feels qualified, as he is twenty and married and has a baby on the way. James has what he calls ‘life experience’. James’s solutions usually involve people moving into the house next door to his and Lily’s, and living communally. He is convinced that close proximity is the best way for his friends to be happy. It is James who tries the hardest to convince Peter that being small is not a bad thing, and it is James who slips money into Remus’s pockets when Remus is inebriated enough not to notice.  
  
Sirius, in what might be the most unforeseen development, is a Philosopher. However, he considered ceiling tiles last week and is three beers past the design of a better towel rail. Right now, he is staring at the pub’s sticky tabletop, one hand absently stroking Remus’ left ear, and thinking that, at the age of twenty and a bit, he is wise enough to know that there are a lot of different kinds of love.  
  
He has a very vague memory consisting mostly of someone’s voice saying “Sirius, this is your brother, Regulus.” There is an impression of something very small and red, and of the realisation that he was a Big Brother. He remembers knowing without a doubt that he was supposed to keep Regulus safe forever. Years later, he remembers being eight and in a very thin layer of snow somewhere, with their parents nowhere to be seen. Regulus had not seen snow, at least not snow that lasts more than a few minutes after settling onto the ground, and so Sirius took it upon himself to teach his little brother what to do with it. He very carefully lifted Regulus and laid him on the ground, and told him how to move his arms and legs up and down, doing a jumping jack to demonstrate. When Regulus had done so, Sirius helped him gingerly out of the impression and stood him on his feet, holding onto him until Regulus had his balance straight. He showed Regulus the picture he had made in the snow, and Regulus giggled to see the snow fairy. That is one kind of love.  
  
He remembers being six years old on a night when his parents had gone to the theatre, and his cousin Andromeda had been asked to look after him. Before he went to bed, she told him a story of Theseus and the Minotaur, and after she tucked him in and left he’d lain in bed and seen strange shapes on the walls. He whimpered in the dark, imagining that the house-elf heads had all come to life and were creeping into his room. He was afraid to get out of bed, lest they bite him. After what seemed an age, his door opened again, spilling in light from the corridor, and Andromeda came to sit on the bed. She asked him what was wrong, and he told her, striving valiantly not to sniffle. She opened her arms and cuddled him, and said that she would stay with him until he was asleep. He was warm and comfortable, and felt safe enough to drift off to sleep. That is another kind of love.  
  
One of the memories is hurried and sketchy, of being very cold and alone, and trudging through snow because he left in too much of a hurry to have change for the Knight Bus, too much of a hurry to take anything more than what he was wearing, struggling to pick up his bleeding paws for one more step, and then another, and another. He remembers standing on two feet again, and James’s arms catching him, and James’s mother’s soup and her hand stroking his hair as he cried. He remembers James’ face watching him as he fell asleep, James saying that they were brothers now, and nothing could separate them. That is another kind of love.  
  
Sirius smiles a little to remember seeing James and Lily three months ago, at their wedding. He remembers that James had fiddled so much with the cuffs of his robes that not one, but two _Reparos_ had been needed before James had been allowed to see Lily, and the look of awe and wonder on James’ face when he first saw Lily waiting under the Weeping Willow tree, with the tree’s tears falling gently to the ground and framing her in soft rain. He remembers the look of joy on Lily’s face, and the way they’d both leaned forward slightly at the sight of each other, as if under a Magnetism spell. He remembers the way there had been a light around them when they’d kissed each other, and the feeling that this was precisely the way things were meant to be. That is another kind of love.  
  
He remembers being at Hogwarts, and those memories all blur together. Remus explained an Arithmancy problem to James, who understood immediately, and to Peter, who didn’t, but persevered, as the four of them laughed madly about something that probably hadn’t really been all that funny, as three of them lost sleep over advanced Transfiguration texts while the other slept like the dead in the Infirmary. He remembers belonging, and being belonged to. That is another kind of love.  
  
Sirius looks down at Remus, and Remus is looking back up at him, a bit more sober than he had been. Remus asks him what he is thinking, and Sirius answers, “nothing really. Just pondering the wood grain on the table. I think it’s oak.”  
  
Actually, Sirius is thinking about Remus, and thinking that this is all kinds of love.

**Author's Note:**

> Importing old stories! This one is from 2005.


End file.
